


Heart's Shelter

by CherieoftheDragons (SignCherie)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair is an elf, Dalish Elves, Dalish Origin, Elf Alistair, F/M, Retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 23:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignCherie/pseuds/CherieoftheDragons
Summary: What if the offspring of elves and humans were elves?Elvhen Alistair escapes an unhappy life at Redcliffe and finds his way to Clan Sabrae, where he falls head over heels for Abeytu Mahariel. Unfortunately for him, she doesn't seem to know he exists. That is, until a tainted mirror changes their lives...Inspired by CeleritasSagittae's Shem-blooded and written for the DA Remix Fest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shem-blooded](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/318963) by CeleritasSagittae. 



So this was how his life would end. Starved to death on the side of the road at only sixteen.

Alistair wondered if anyone would bother to burn his body, just some anonymous elf found on a small road on the edges of civilization. Maker. Leaving Redcliffe to find the Dalish was the worst idea he’d ever had. And he’d had some terrible ideas.

How far away was he from the next village?

Not that it mattered. He’d come to the last of the meager bit of money he started with, and he had no strength to work for his supper. 

When he was no longer able to walk, he crawled. But even that was becoming impossible. If he could only reach something, a farm, anything…

No, he wouldn’t find a farm. Not this close to the Brecilian Forest. The Dalish were too near. The only humans out here lived huddled in their villages, safety in numbers. There was no sign of civilization for miles around. 

He couldn’t go any further. Alistair collapsed. Nothing left to do but wait for death to come.

What would it be like, he wondered, in the Fade? The Chantry sister who used to visit him at the stables -- well, her stories contradicted themselves. Sometimes she would say the dead returned to the side of the Maker. Other times, the Maker had abandoned his people, and only Andraste remained with him, forever pleading for the sake of his followers.

With Alistair’s luck, he’d be stuck with a bunch of demons forever. Or maybe… maybe the whole thing was a lie. Maybe there would just be nothing.

His vision was starting to go black.

A thought crept in, something he never allowed himself to think about. Maybe… his father would be there. His father hadn’t wanted him, not in this world, but in the Fade? With no crown and no kingdom to worry about? Maybe there… he might… he could…

Alistair couldn’t keep his eyes open. His body was going numb. Strange. This wasn’t how he thought it would be.

His shoulder jerked. It felt almost like someone had grabbed him. But there was no one here, not for miles. Just another symptom of dying, he supposed.

“ _ Fenedhis _ ! Open your eyes!”

The voice was distant.

His whole body jerked, and somehow, Alistair managed to lift his eyelids. A face swirled before him, pale, blonde hair, tattoos. More than that he couldn’t make out. A spirit of compassion?

“Tamlen!” the spirit shouted, followed by words he didn’t understand.

The blackness crept back over his vision, and this time, he let it take him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Four years later**

 

Whatever happened to him next, it was Alistair’s own fault. If he was lucky, the shems would only shove him around a little and then leave him be. If he was unlucky, if these shems were the really bad kind -- well, hopefully it would only end in a beating. Hopefully.

He would never go herb-picking alone again. And especially not without a weapon.

The tallest of the shems grinned, and it was not a nice, _hello-let’s-be-friends_ grin. This was a _hurting-you-will-be-fun_ grin. Alistair had seen his share of those.

Alistair cocked his head and did his best to copy that grin. “You must be lost, shemlen. Hasn’t anyone ever told you the forest is dangerous? Wolves, bears…” Alistair dropped the smile and narrowed his eyes in a way he hoped was threatening. “Dalish hunters.”

The tall one laughed, and Alistair knew his threat had failed. “Are you a hunter?” He spoke as if Alistair were a child. “I don’t see any weapons, little knife-ear.”

At the shemlen’s nod, the other two moved to circle Alistair, cutting off his escape. _Fenhedis_. He should have run at the first sight of them.

“And all alone, too.” The tall shem shook his head sadly. “I don’t think you’re a hunter at all. You know, I don’t like to be lied to.”

Alistair didn’t think the response _actually, I’m a warrior_ was going to get him anywhere, no matter how true it might be. So went for sarcasm. “That’s right, I’m all alone. Wandering the woods by myself.” He faked a laugh. “I knew you shemlen were ignorant, but surely you at least know that the Dalish travel in packs. There are two more hunters following me.”

The shem narrowed his eyes, and his eyes flicked to the woods. Alistair decided that was enough of a distraction to make a move. He spun around, using his momentum to slam his fist into the nearest shem’s face. The human cried out, stumbling backwards from the impact.

Alistair had the element of surprise, and he didn’t dally. He shot forward into the cover of the trees, trusting his feet to carry him safely through the bracken.

Behind him, someone cursed and shouted, “Looks like we’re hunting rabbit!”

Alistair’s heart sank at the sound. They were pursuing, despite the fact that he’d shown he wouldn’t go down quietly, and that meant one thing.

They were some of the bad ones.

But he was faster than them, he was sure of it. And he knew the forest. He just had to get back to the camp--

His mind was so focused on escape that he almost crashed into Abeytu and Tamlen, standing in a small clearing and looking incredibly startled.

Somehow, he managed to pull himself to a halt before slamming into them headfirst. Relief flooded him, followed quickly by humiliation. Of course. It had to be Abeytu. Of all the people to see him like this--

Abeytu was scarier than any shem could be. At this moment, her eyes blazed, and Alistair thought she might kill someone at any second.

She was absolutely beautiful.

That was weird to think, wasn’t it? Scary wasn’t supposed to be beautiful. But Alistair had always found that the scarier Abeytu got, the more he wanted to grab her and kiss her or something.

Yes, weird, definitely weird.

These thoughts flashed through his head in a second, and by the time they finished, Abeytu and Tamlen had their bows out and arrows nocked, ready for the shems who were noisily shouting their way through the forest.

Alistair lunged forward to stand between them and face the shems, then crossed his arms and attempted to look smug. _Two hunters following me. Seems I wasn’t bluffing after all._

The humans stumbled through the brush -- and lurched to a stop.

“Shit,” the tall one said.

“Shit,” Alistair agreed cheerfully.

The shem put up his hands, and the other two followed his lead. “We don’t want any trouble. We just wanted to talk, that was all. We weren’t going to hurt you.”

“No one,” said Abeytu, voice low and dangerous, “threatens my clanmates.”

Her arrow pierced the shemlen’s neck before the man could blink.

Alistair’s breath caught. The shem deserved it, he would have hurt Alistair, and badly, but--a moment ago, the man had been fine, and now he lay on the ground, blood pouring from his neck and bubbling from his mouth.

Then a wave of guilt hit him, because a man was dying, and that should be the most important thing right now. But--

Abeytu had defended him. She cared so much about him that she killed someone without a thought simply because he had threatened Alistair. No, he corrected himself. It wasn’t him she cared about. She would have done it for any of their clan. But it was the second time that Abeytu had saved him, and that meant something. All right, maybe not to her, but to him, it meant the world.

While Alistair’s mind raced, the other two shemlen turned and ran. One of them disappeared into the foliage. The other was not so lucky. His foot snagged on a tree root, and he fell headfirst to the ground.

Tamlen shook his head and stepped forward, arrow trained on the shem. “Today is not your day.”

“Please!” The human rolled over, hands in front of his face. “I wasn’t looking for trouble. I just came into the woods to see that cave!”

“Funny.” Alistair found his voice. “I’ve never been mistaken for a cave before.”

Tamlen laughed, and Alistair shot a glance at Abeytu to see her reaction. Her lip quirked, but somehow, she still managed to look deadly. Only Abeytu could pull that off.

Tamlen addressed the human. “There’s no cave around here.”

“There is! Look, I’ll show you! I found this there!” The shem fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a piece of flat, broken stone, then held it out in front of him with his eyes squeezed shut.

Tamlen nodded toward Alistair. “Want to get that?”

Slowly, Alistair approached the shem. Abeytu and Tamlen didn’t move, weapons still focused on their target. Abeytu’s body was tense, near to quivering, Alistair thought.

_Creators, Alistair, stop looking at her_.

He tore his eyes away, focusing instead on the object in the human’s hand. It was a slate of some kind -- Alistair could see writing carved into it. But not in the common tongue. That alphabet was…

He snatched the tablet away quickly. “This is written Elvish!”

“What? Let me see.”

Alistair returned to Tamlen’s side, holding the stone up for him. Tamlen lowered his bow, eyes narrowed they scanned the letters there. Then he turned to the shemlen. “Where did you get this?”

“I told you! In the cave!”

Alistair peered at the writing, barely paying attention as Tamlen dragged the details of the cave’s location and dangers out of the shemlen. All Alistair’s focus was on deciphering the words etched into the stone, hoping he might make something out.

“Please,” the human begged. “Just let me go. I’ll never bother you Dalish again.”

“You’re right.” Abeytu’s nostrils flared. “You won’t.”

Her arrow flew.

And landed in the grass, inches away from the man’s hand.

Abeytu hadn’t missed. Abeytu never missed. Alistair searched her face, wishing he could read her even a little.

“Get. Out. Of. Here.” She growled the words.

The shemlen didn’t wait to be told twice. He ran.

Only when the sounds of the human’s retreat had faded did Abeytu lower her bow. Immediately, she turned to Alistair. “Are you all right?”

She was talking to him. To him. Alistair’s mouth was dry. “I’m fine. I got away before they could touch me.”

She nodded, eyes still hard. “Good.”

Tamlen clapped a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “You may not have had a weapon, but neither did they. I bet you could have taken them.”

The praise from the older elf made Alistair’s chest fill with pride, especially in front of Abeytu. “Right. Sure. Three shemlen? Piece of cake.”

Tamlen laughed. “You became a warrior after two years in the clan, and you’ve had two more years defending us under your belt. The shemlen didn’t look trained. Yeah, I think you could have taken them.”

Tamlen’s assertion brought Alistair up short. Maybe he could have. He’d never faced a human without backup, and definitely without a weapon. The abuses of the humans were burned into his memory, but he wasn’t that boy anymore. He was a grown elf. He’d earned his vallaslin. He fought alongside his fellow Dalish.

Abeytu interrupted his thoughts. “You did the right thing. Running without a fight. You’re too valuable to risk against those odds.

With those words, Alistair’s pulse sped up. Valuable? Abeytu thought he was valuable? He could feel his cheeks get warm, and he hoped his blush wasn’t obvious. Creators, he always turned into a bumbling child when she was around.

Then the second meaning in her words hit him. She didn’t have the confidence in his abilities that Tamlen did.

Well. Alistair knew that, in Abeytu’s eyes, he would always be the kid she’d rescued from the side of the road. She would never see him as her equal, even now when he was an adult with vallaslin and a contributing member of the clan. And maybe that would never change. Maybe he would always be just a boy with a crush on the older girl who would forever be out of his reach.

He had no real hopes when it came to her, not realistic ones. But he couldn’t stop himself from longing for her all the same.

“You’re coming with us to the cave, right?”

Tamlen’s invitation startled Alistair. Him, come with them? Abeytu and Tamlen kept to themselves. Well, Tamlen was friendly with everyone, but when he was with Abeytu, they never included anyone else. And Abeytu rarely spoke to anyone besides Tamlen or Ashalle.

“You’re going to the cave?” Alistair asked stupidly. “You’re not going to check in with the Keeper?”

Abeytu turned to Tamlen. “If Alistair is coming with us, then we probably should. We’ll at least need to go back to camp so he can get his armor and weapons.”

Tamlen scoffed. “It’s just a cave. What harm could there be?”

“The demon the shem claimed he saw, for one. And if he was lying, there are probably giant spiders as well.”

Alistair shuddered. “I wouldn’t mind getting my sword.”

Tamlen sighed dramatically. “All right. But I still say we shouldn’t tell Keeper Marethari. You know she won’t let us go.”

A voice in Alistair’s head whispered that if the Keeper wouldn’t approve, it probably meant it was a bad idea. But there was no way he’d pass up the opportunity to spend time with Abeytu and Tamlen, so for once in his life, he kept his mouth shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Alistair didn’t know what he expected to find in a cave full of ruins, but a giant mirror wasn’t it.

He’d never seen a mirror that large and ornate, not even in the castle at Redcliffe when he’d been allowed in. He couldn’t imagine who would need a mirror that large. A troll, maybe. Certainly no elf -- but the thing was inscribed with Elvish words that Alistair couldn’t hope to read. What was it, and why in blazes would it be here?

The mirror enthralled Alistair... and repelled him. It seemed to sing almost, as if it were calling to him, and yet danger radiated from it that grew stronger with every step he took in its direction. With difficulty, Alistair tore his eyes away from the mirror to gauge his companions’ reactions. Tamlen was gazing at the mirror as though it were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Abeytu’s expression was closed off, distrustful.

Alistair wanted to run away, but he’d already done that once today. He wouldn’t be any more of a coward than he’d already been.

Tamlen was the first to speak. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I wonder what this writing says.”

Alistair cleared his throat. “‘Do not touch the glass?’”

Abeytu huffed in a way that was almost a laugh. “I doubt we could leave a fingerprint on it. This thing’s been sitting in a cave for Creators know how long, and not a smudge on it, or a single particle of dust. Something’s wrong with it. We should leave.”

Tamlen ignored them completely. “Did you see that? I think something moved inside the mirror.”

“Fantastic,” Alistair muttered, wanting more than ever to put as much space as possible between them and the blasted thing.

Clearly Abeytu felt the same. “Get away from it, Tamlen.”

“Hold on, I just want to know what it is. Don’t you see it? There it is again!”

Alistair did see something, like a swirl on the surface of the mirror. Again his instincts conflicted with each other, part of him wanting to go towards it, the other part screaming to leave. The urge to get closer scared him more than the instinct to get away. Dangerous.

“Can you feel that?” Tamlen took a step closer. “I think it knows we’re here. I just need to take a closer look…”

As if under a spell, the older elf stepped up the dais, not taking his eyes from the mirror. After a brief glance at Alistair, Abeytu followed, staying close, her posture defensive. Ready to fight off a threat if Tamlen found himself in danger, Alistair thought.

Alistair did the same, hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to fight if necessary, and simultaneously feeling foolish for wanting to battle a looking-glass.

Tamlen’s hand reached out, and his fingers touched the glass.  _ Bad, bad idea _ , Alistair thought. As if agreeing with him, the air around them seemed to shudder at the contact. Alistair hadn’t known air could  _ shudder _ .

“It’s… showing me places. I can see… some kind of city… underground? And… there’s a great blackness…” Tamlen glanced back at Abeytu, suddenly worried, then focused again on the mirror.

Alistair opened his mouth, ready to make some joke about hightailing it out of there, anything that might get Tamlen to leave the damn thing, but before he could say a word, Tamlen’s face changed, horror spreading across his features. “It… it saw me! Help! I can’t look away!”

The air shuddered again, harder. White light burst from the mirror. A blast threw Alistair backwards, and everything went black.

\----------

The next thing Alistair was aware of was a buzzing in his ears. Slowly, the sound of quiet voices pushed through into his consciousness.

“This is the only way?” 

“I am sorry.”

“And you say you only need one recruit.”

“It is what I am allowed by the crown.”

The haze in his brain began to lift, and the buzzing faded away. Alistair recognized Keeper Marethari’s voice, as well as an unfamiliar male one.

The Keeper sighed. “And how will you choose?”

“As I understand, both the infected victims are skilled fighters: the woman talented in stealth and trained with a bow and twin daggers, and the man a proficient warrior with a sword and shield. Either would make excellent Grey Warden material.”

The events that had knocked him unconscious came rushing back. The mirror. Abeytu. Tamlen. 

The male voice spoke of a woman and a man. By his description, the woman had to be Abeytu. But the man could not be Tamlen, a hunter whose weapon of choice was a bow. Could they be talking about… Alistair?

“Are you telling me,” Marethari’s voice broke, “that I must choose a member of my clan to live, and one to die?”

“I am sorry,” the man said again.

“Abeytu and Alistair.”

“Yes.”

Alistair’s blood ran cold. He’d been right. They were talking about him... and Abeytu. And if they were to be believed, one of them would die.

“Surely there must be another way. Another cure.”

“If only there were.”

Marethari sighed, a deep, shuddering sigh. “They are both so young. So much life to live. But Alistair is younger. More to give up if he dies.”

This had to be a dream. It was impossible. He was a flat ear, and Abeytu was the strongest person he’d ever met. There was no possible way the Keeper would choose Alistair to live over Abeytu.

Silence. No one spoke.

_ Open your eyes, Alistair. Open your eyes. _

He couldn’t find the strength to do so.

Finally, Marethari’s voice broke through the silence. “That must be my choice, then. Alistair will live.”

“No.”

It took Alistair a moment to realize that the croaking voice had come from him. Somehow, he managed to force his eyes open. “No.”

Weakly, he turned his head towards the voices. The man who had spoken was a shemlen, black hair, dark skin, with a sword strapped to his back. Both he and the Keeper were staring at Alistair.

“Hush,  _ da’len _ .” Marethari reached towards his face and brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “You need to rest.”

“No.” Alistair was starting to think he’d forgotten how to say any other words, so he forced himself to find them. “You can’t let Abeytu die.”

Marethari looked at the human, and something passed between them.

“You do not understand what you ask,  _ da’len _ .”

“Yes, I do.” Alistair felt his strength returning, and he struggled to sit, managing only to lift himself to his elbows. “Abeytu and I are sick, and you can only save one of us.”

Another hesitation. “That is true, but there is more--”

“It doesn’t matter.” Abeytu couldn’t die. It couldn’t happen. Even if Alistair didn’t feel as he felt about her, he owed her his life. He would repay that debt.

And he did. Feel how he felt. He could never live with himself, knowing that he only lived because she was dead.

There was no choice. She would live.

“Abeytu,” he said. “Choose Abeytu.”

Silence fell once again.

It was the human who finally spoke. “I will take them both.”

Marethari’s eyes widened. “You will?”

The man nodded stoically. “I do not believe the king will object. But I will deal with it if he does.”

Alistair let himself fall back in relief. Abeytu would live. That was all that mattered.

“I’ll have him ready to travel within the day,” Marethari said. “And… thank you.”

“You are welcome,” was the man’s reply. “Please excuse me.”

Alistair’s eyes fell shut once more, and he felt Marethari’s fingers brush his forehead again. “You are a treasure,  _ da’len _ .  _ Ar lath ma bellanaris. Mythal las enansel bellanaris. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ar lath ma bellanaris. Mythal las enansel bellanaris._ I love you always. Mythal bless you always.


	4. Chapter 4

Marethari was right. Alistair had not understood what he asked.

But it didn’t matter. He would have chosen Abeytu to live if he’d been asked a hundred times. Even if he hadn’t known he would live as well. Even if he’d known what it meant.

When Alistair awoke again, strength returned, and the Keeper told him that he must leave forever -- well, he couldn’t quite process it. It couldn’t be real. Master Dennet had told him stories of the Grey Wardens back in his childhood, and they existed in the same place in his mind where fables and folktales took root. To be told that he must leave his home and become a legendary warrior -- he couldn’t convince himself that he wasn’t dreaming the entire thing.

The reality of it all didn’t hit home until he and Abeytu were following the Grey Warden out of the camp and the children ran to him in tears, throwing their arms around his legs. That was the moment it became true. It was happening. He was leaving.

He dropped to his knees to hug the children, unable to stop his own tears from falling. 

Finally, he had to tear himself free of their grasp. Parents came to hold their children back, and the parents were crying, too. The whole clan had come out to watch them go. So many tearful faces, everywhere he looked. Merrill, Ilen, Fenarel, Ashalle… he had to stop looking at them. It was too hard to meet their eyes. 

No time for goodbyes, the Grey Warden had said. It was probably better this way. Alistair wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.

When the camp was far behind them, Alistair’s tears ran dry. He could do this. It would be fine. So he was leaving the only place he’d ever been truly happy. At least he knew now that happiness was possible. And he had Abeytu with him. She may not be the chattiest person he knew, but there was no one alive he felt safer with. Never had been.

He would be fine.

\----------

The journey to Ostagar was… difficult.

Both Alistair and Abeytu had lost everything. Their home, their friends, everything they held dear. Everything except each other.

Alistair cared for Abeytu, so at least he had that. It had to be so much worse for Abeytu, who had no more attachment to Alistair than to anyone else in the clan.

And Tamlen. Tamlen was gone.

They hadn’t been friends, Tamlen and Alistair, but Tamlen was easily the kindest person in the clan. There wasn’t a person who knew him that didn’t love him. He was the kind of guy that never took offense. Trouble seemed to slide right over him, and he somehow managed to stay out of the disagreements and bickering of his clanmates. He always had a friendly smile and a word of encouragement for anyone who needed it.

Alistair needed it pretty often. He hadn’t actually spoken with Tamlen much, but now that Tamlen was gone, he realized what a quiet comfort the elf had always been.

Tamlen shouldn’t have been the one to die.

There were so many reasons it was wrong, all wrong, that Alistair lived and Tamlen didn’t. Alistair was a flat-ear, a nobody, a pretender at being Dalish. Nobody ever said it, but he knew it was true. Tamlen was truly Dalish. He’d been with the clan since infancy, and everyone knew and loved him. Alistair was prickly and sarcastic; Tamlen was gentle and cheery. Tamlen was Abeytu’s best friend, and Alistair was… Alistair was…

Well. Whatever he was, Tamlen was better. Abeytu deserved to have her dearest friend at her side now, a competent hunter who’d trained since childhood, who’d been hunting alongside her for years and probably knew her every move. Not a flat-ear four years younger who’d only studied with a blade a scant handful of years.

Tamlen. Alistair didn’t quite know how to grieve him. It seemed inappropriate that he grieve at all, somehow. They hadn’t been friends. This loss wasn’t Alistair’s, and trying to lay claim to it felt wrong. If it was anyone’s loss, it was Abeytu’s. Alistair shouldn’t take that from her.

But he grieved all the same.

Whenever he could, Alistair stole little glances at Abeytu, admiring her strength. And her beauty, of course her beauty, the silkiness of her hair, her penetrating grey eyes. But her outward loveliness had always been secondary to the fire that burned in her soul.

How much did she hurt under that grave exterior? What could Alistair do to ease her pain?

He could be at her side. Beyond that, he had no idea.

So he tried to be supportive. He wanted to be quietly there for her, available for whatever she needed. Unfortunately, he was failing miserably.

Alistair had never been one to keep his mouth shut. One would think that nearly dying, followed by losing everything you had, would be sobering enough to cure him of that, but no, it seemed not. He couldn’t stand the silence. So he babbled near constantly, cracking jokes that weren’t funny, wishing he had the skill of shutting up.

The human, Duncan, kept up conversation with him, and he seemed a decent man. One of the good humans, the very rare ones that didn’t seem to see elves as different at all. But Alistair wished beyond all wishing that Abeytu would speak more than a few necessary words. Her silence made him feel as though she wasn’t really there at all.

He needed her to be there. She was all he had.


	5. Chapter 5

As they crossed the bridge to Ostagar, Alistair was too caught up in Duncan’s explanation of the current situation to pay much attention to the three approaching men. It was only when Duncan stopped speaking abruptly that Alistair turned his head to see what had caught his attention.

And then he stopped breathing.

Alistair had seen Cailan before, of course he had, but only at a distance. The young prince had visited Redcliffe countless times, but the king’s elf bastard wasn’t allowed anywhere near the golden son, the heir to the throne. Alistair had often sneaked away to catch a glimpse of Cailan, an act that earned him a blow if anyone but Master Dennet caught him. He’d watched the young human with longing and made up fantasies in his mind, an imaginary world where he and Cailan grew up together, where Cailan was the older brother who looked out for him and taught him the ways of the world.

But what he’d seen before him was a boy who had everything, a boy who could never understand what it was to be afraid or lonely or disliked. A boy who could never have any need for a brother who would impose on his space, take what was his, split the attention of those around him.

The fantasies had faded. Alistair hadn’t thought of them in years. Of course not. Not at all.

“Ho there, Duncan!”

Alistair raised his eyes to the King of Ferelden.

The king was wearing golden armor, polished to shine in the light. His gleaming blond hair could have been made of the same gold. His complexion was pale, as if he had never seen the sun. He had an easy smile, this man, this brother that had no inkling of Alistair’s existence. It must be easy to smile like that when you were beloved by everyone. 

“King Cailan.” Duncan sounded surprised. “I didn’t expect--”

“A royal welcome?” The king grinned conspiratorially. “I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun!”

Duncan’s stoic expression did not change. “Not if I could help it, your Majesty.”

“Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious!” King Cailan turned his attention to Alistair and Abeytu, his smile still glowing. “I expected one recruit, but the other Wardens told me you found two! I take it these are them?”

“Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty.”

Cailan stepped towards them. “There’s no need to be so formal, Duncan. We’ll be shedding blood together, after all.”

His welcoming smile was not the way a king was supposed to look at tattooed, barbarian elves. Cailan looked at the two of them as if -- as if the three were about to become best friends, and the king was excited to get started right away.

Ha. Every time Alistair thought he couldn’t be more foolish, he proved himself wrong. A king could never want to be friends with elves. It was wishful thinking. It couldn’t be anything else.

“Ho there, friends!”

Friends. Alistair fought the urge to shake his head. It was a joke. It had to be.

“Might I know your names?”

Alistair glanced at Abeytu. She had narrowed her eyes and appeared to be assessing the man in front of her.

It fell to Alistair to speak first, then. He cleared his throat. “I am Alistair of Clan Sabrae. This is my, erm--” His what? Friend? Savior? The woman he secretly loved? “My companion, Abeytu.”

In all the years that Alistair had fantasized about meeting Cailan, he’d never imagined it would be like this.

“Pleased to meet you!” Cailan’s tone sounded genuine. Alistair searched for a note of falseness, anything, and found none. “The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I for one am glad to help them.”

Alistair couldn’t shake his suspicion. This man was not at all what he’d imagined his brother would be. “You’re not angry that there are two of us?”

Cailan laughed. “I’m not looking forward to telling Loghain about the increase in numbers! But I’m delighted to have you both at my side. You are Dalish, are you not? I hear your people possess remarkable skill and honor.”

Abeytu spoke now, her voice flat. “I thought humans considered us dangerous vagrants.”

“What was it those humans said to me a week ago?” Alistair pretended to think. “Ah, yes. I believe the phrase was, ‘We’re hunting rabbit.’”

Cailan’s eyes widened. “Truly? Abominable!”

He should not be speaking to the king this way, but Alistair had never had a filter. “I suppose your council is filled with elves such as us. Since we possess ‘remarkable skill and honor.’”

The king laughed. “A very good point! You and I should talk when all this is done, my friend. I could use a perspective that doesn’t come from stodgy old men.”

Impossible. Impossible that it was this easy to get close to the king. Impossible that Cailan, the darling of the country, would let Alistair in so easily.

It had to be a lie. Or an empty promise, at least. When the battle was over, the king would forget all about him.

“I tell you this: you are very welcome here. The Grey Wardens will benefit greatly with you amongst them.” Cailan glanced at Duncan, then grimaced. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent.” He looked back at Alistair and Abeytu conspiratorially. “Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies.”

“Your uncle sends his regards,” Duncan replied, politely and pointedly, “and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week.”

Cailan laughed again. “Eamon just wants in on the glory! We’ve won three battles against these monsters, and tomorrow should be no different.”

Abeytu raised one eyebrow. “I didn’t realize things were going so well.”

“I’m not even sure this is a real Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas,” Cailan sighed, “we’ve seen no sign of an archdemon.”

“Disappointed, your Majesty?”

Alistair thought the disapproval in Duncan’s tone was impossible to miss, but somehow Cailan managed it. “I’d hoped for a war like in the tales. A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do.”

A fool. The king, Alistair’s brother, was a fool. So this was what a pampered life got you.

“I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!”

And with that, the king walked away.

Duncan turned to Alistair and Abeytu. “I am sorry,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it. “Had I known he would greet us, I would have warned you.”

Abeytu frowned. “Why?”

Duncan glanced at Alistair, just for the barest of seconds, but Alistair didn’t miss it. Duncan knew who he was. What he was.

His head spun. How? Why? What did--

“It can be startling to suddenly find yourself face to face with the monarch of Ferelden,” Duncan said. “I would have given you the chance to prepare if you had wished to.”

Abeytu shrugged. “He’s not our king. It doesn’t much matter to me.”

“Right,” Alistair said. “Doesn’t matter at all.”

The Grey Warden nodded smoothly. “What the king said is true. We’ve won several battles against the darkspawn here…”

Duncan went on, describing the situation, and Alistair pushed Cailan out of his mind and forced his attention on the details at hand, grateful for the distraction.

* * *

As soon as Duncan left them, Abeytu grabbed Alistair’s arm and dragged him out of view. “Thank Mythal.” She sighed. “I thought we’d never be alone.”

Abeytu’s touch shocked Alistair enough that he had to gather his thoughts before he could speak. “You wanted to be alone?” What a stupid question. She’d just said so, hadn’t she?

“We couldn’t talk in front of a human, could we? Are you okay?”

Alistair blinked. “Of course I am. Are...you?”

Abeytu’s face, which had been more open than he’d ever seen it, suddenly closed off. “Yes. Of course.”

He wanted to kick himself. He wasn’t okay. Neither of them were okay. He should have thought before answering, responded honestly from the heart. Maybe if he had, she would have done the same. 

“Don’t do that again.” Abeytu folded her arms over her chest.

Alistair was lost. “Do what? Be okay?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Try to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Ah. His insistence that she be the one the Grey Warden saved. “So you know about that.”

“Don’t do it again. You’re more valuable than me. I won’t allow you to give up your life.”

Alistair’s heart skipped a beat. “Valuable?”

Abeytu only glared at him in a way that made him want to step back. He gathered his courage and raised his chin.

“I can’t promise that.”

Abeytu’s nostrils flared. “I need you to. We’ll be in battle together. I can’t fight if I’m worrying about you interfering with my attacks. You take care of yourself, and I’ll take care of me.”

Oh. That explained it. She wasn’t worried about his life. She was worried that he would get in her way.

No, he couldn’t accept that. “You do realize that whatever I do, I’ll be a target, front and center.” He gestured at his heavy Dalish armor. “I’m trained to fight humans, to defend our clan. My attacks are head-on, and I win by being tougher than the other guy. I can’t exactly stay out of your way.”

Abeytu closed her eyes. “You shouldn’t be in this battle,” she said under her breath.

That pricked Alistair’s pride. He pushed aside the sharp pain that her opinion of him was so low and focused on her words. “I should. I’m a warrior, and a good one, if Hahren Paival is to be believed.” Alistair didn’t always believe him, but that was beside the point. “You’re trying to work against me, and that’s not going to work. You’re a hunter. Your skill is in going unnoticed, getting in close, and making the kill. Right?”

Her brow furrowed, and she nodded.

“I can’t do that, and I shouldn’t. We need to work together. I can’t help being a target, so we use it to our advantage. Let the darkspawn come to me. You do your hunter thing, all stealthy and quiet, and take them out while their attention is on my attack. You want us to each take care of ourselves. I say that if we take care of each other, we’ll be formidable. The darkspawn won’t know what hit them.”

Abeytu inclined her head, examining him, and Alistair tried to remain calm under her assessing stare.

Then she nodded once. “You’re right. We’re Dalish. We stick together. I should never have suggested otherwise.” She hesitated. “ _ Ir abelas _ .”

Alistair boggled. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Abeytu apologize.

As if that weren’t strange enough, she bit her lip, an expression of insecurity that he would have thought impossible. “I’m glad you’re here.” He had to strain to hear her quiet voice. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Her stony expression was back so quickly that he almost thought he’d imagined anything else. “Come on. We’d better find the quartermaster and get some supplies before we meet the Grey Warden Duncan spoke of.”

He followed her back into the main camp, doing his best to regain his balance -- and failing miserably.


	6. Chapter 6

Alistair watched the two human recruits die. Daveth from the darkspawn blood. Jory run through by Duncan’s sword for trying to back out.

So Alistair and Abeytu weren’t here to be cured after all. They were here to be cured -- or be killed.

Abeytu could still die.

Duncan held out the goblet (it was huge, did it really need to be that bloody huge?), and Abeytu reached for it. Alistair grabbed it before she could.

If he was going to die, better it be him first. If Abeytu drank before him and didn’t survive, Alistair would have to watch. If he drank before her, there was less chance that he’d have to see her strangle and choke, her body jerking and writhing as Daveth’s had, before going still. 

He glanced at her one last time, and he could have sworn she looked… terrified.

Alistair drank before he could lose his courage.

As soon as he swallowed, pain enveloped him. His vision went white. He tried to move, but his limbs were paralyzed, every muscle in his body rigid.

_ I’m dying _ , he thought, and the white light overwhelmed him, pulling him down into unconsciousness.

\------------

The next thing he was aware of was a feeling of being held, of arms around his shoulders. The pain wasn’t gone, but it was diminished, an ache instead of an acute throbbing. As his sense of touch slowly returned, he became conscious that he was lying on the stone ground, his head in someone’s lap.

“Alistair! _Lethallin!_ _Var lath vir suledin!_ Open your eyes, please!”

Abeytu. That was Abeytu’s voice. He forced his lids to open.

Abeytu’s face hovered above his, eyes wide, lips parted. “Alistair.”

A tear fell from her lashes onto his cheek, and before he knew what was happening, she’d pulled him tight against her chest.

Creators. Abeytu was holding him, cradling him in her arms. She was in tears. Over him.

Joy warred with worry in his heart. He’d never thought to see her so upset. He couldn’t stand knowing he had caused her any grief.

But she cared. She cared. Apparently a great deal.

Alistair reached up to slide his arms around her waist and closed his eyes, revelling in the closeness of her body. He’d imagined being held by her so many times, but he’d never believed it would ever happen.

There was a right thing to say. He knew there was. He also knew that he was not going to say it.

“So that’s darkspawn blood.” Alistair’s voice came out as a croak. “It must be an acquired taste.”

Abeytu laughed. She actually laughed. Creators, she had a beautiful laugh. He’d so rarely heard it, and then only in response to something Tamlen had said.

She was laughing for him, and he could listen to it forever.

_ Var lath vir suledin,  _ she’d said. Alistair had to think for a moment to translate the words. _ I won’t give up on you _ .

Alistair felt her chest expand as she inhaled, and she released him, her face turning stoic once more. “All right. My turn.”

Oh. Shit. 

She rose to her feet, and Alistair scrambled to get up as well, struggling to regain his balance with his mind still hazy. Abeytu reached out two hands, and Duncan placed the cup in her grasp.

She looked at Alistair. It was the same stony look he’d seen a thousand times before, but suddenly he saw it for what it was. A mask. A defense. A way to hide her feelings, her fears, her… loves.

Not that she loved Alistair. That wasn’t what he meant. Just… he understood now why she looked that way. And suddenly it wasn’t scary at all.

Abeytu raised the goblet to her lips. Alistair wanted to reach out, to knock it from her hands, anything to keep her from risking her life, from going through what he just had. But she would die if she didn’t swallow that poison, so he clenched his hands into fists and watched.

She drank.

Immediately, her body spasmed. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, and her pale grey irises had gone completely white. Her body wavered, and Alistair shot forward to catch her before she fell.

_ Maker. Creators _ . She was boneless in his arms. He laid her limp body gently on the ground. Her head lolled to the side.

_ No, no, no _ .

Duncan’s quiet voice cut through his fear. “She’ll live.”

What was the word of a shem when the only person he had lay unmoving and unconscious on the hard stone? Alistair wanted to hold her the way she’d held him, but he didn’t dare. What right did he have to touch her that way? Instead, he clasped her both her hands in both of his and raised them to his lips.

_ Mythal. Dirthamen. Elgar’nan. Andraste. Please. _ Alistair didn’t care who answered his prayers, as long as Abeytu lived.

A minute passed. Two. Three. Each agonizing second could have been an hour.

And then she gasped, and he nearly collapsed in relief.

Abeytu blinked, and her gaze fell on him . Then she smiled, an unguarded smile that made Alistair feel dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with darkspawn blood.

“I’m all right,” she murmured, and suddenly, the world didn’t seem the dark place it had become since they left the clan.

\----------

_ Take some time _ , Duncan had said. Alistair and Abeytu sat next to each other, backs against the stone wall, their legs so close they were nearly touching. They didn’t speak. Even Alistair knew there was nothing to say.

“I lied.” Abeytu’s words broke into the silence.

“I… forgive you?” 

Her lips quirked. A smile. Subtle, but he was learning to read her better, to understand the little changes in her expression. She’d smiled. For him.

Alistair sighed dramatically, trying to keep the light mood going. “All right, I’ll bite. What did you lie about?”

“I said I wanted us each to look out for ourselves. It was a lie. I’d never leave you on your own.”

Warmth spread over him. All this time, he’d felt alone. He’d taken her silence on the journey as a sign that she wasn’t with him, not in truth, not in spirit. And he was wrong. She’d been with him from the start, from the moment they’d taken the first step away from the clan. The truth washed over him, comforting and strong.

But -- “I’m missing something here. Why lie about that?”

“I wanted to take care of you. And you were trying to protect me. How could I take care of you if you did that?”

Take care of him. That… didn’t sound right. A person took care of children and pets, not equals. The truth of it hit him, and his heart sank. “So you think I need watching.”

Abeytu looked at her feet, her face grim. “It’s my fault you’re here.”

Wait, what? “ _ Your _ fault?”

“Of course.”

He could do nothing but gape. “How in Fen’harel’s name did you come to that conclusion?”

Abeytu narrowed her eyes and fixed them on the stone ground. “It’s one thing for Tamlen and I to run off and get into trouble. It’s another to drag you into it, too.” Some emotion crossed her face, but it was gone before Alistair could read it. “Elgar’nan, you’re so young. I should have been responsible, I should have--”

“No. Stop.” He couldn’t listen to anymore. His heart pounded, and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He leapt to his feet before he could think. “I’m not a child. I made my own choices.  _ Fenedhis lasa _ , Abeytu, if it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine.” All the guilt came spilling out of him, and he couldn’t hold it back. “If I hadn’t been in the forest alone -- if I’d brought a weapon, something -- by the Dread Wolf, I led those shems right to you! If I hadn’t, if we’d never found that cave--”

He choked, unable to breathe. It was his fault, all of it, and nothing he could ever do would make it right. The only thing he could do now, the only thing that would make up for his mistakes in any way, was to see that nothing worse happened to Abeytu than what he’d already caused. And she -- she saw him as a child that needed looking after. Not a warrior that could protect her. He had one goal now, and she was taking it away from him, because in her eyes, he was incompetent. Useless.

Abeytu was watching him. Staring at him as he fell apart. That was not going to help his cause. So he drew in a breath and pulled himself up tall. When he felt steady, he met Abeytu’s eyes. “Don’t coddle me,” he said. “I don’t need it.”

Abeytu regarded him silently, and her eyes pierced straight through him, leaving him vulnerable, exposed. Elgar’nan, he wished she didn’t have that effect on him. Wished he didn’t come undone under her scrutiny. 

She pushed herself up to standing. Her hand reached towards him, hesitated, and to Alistair’s surprise, came to rest on his forearm. Her entire body was stiff, and she looked over his shoulder, gaze fixed on something he couldn’t see. “It’s not your fault,” she said.

He wished he could believe that. “Well, if it’s not my fault, then it’s not yours, either.”

Abeytu frowned, and Alistair didn’t think she believed him any more than he did her. Instead of responding, she pulled her hand back and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why do you think the human king wants us at a meeting?”

The reminder brought him back to the present, reminding him of where he was and all the horror of their situation. “He probably thinks he can play hero better with Grey Wardens to lord over.”

She squinted and shook her head. “That’s the thing. He didn’t lord over us. I can’t understand what he could be up to.”

Alistair didn’t want to talk about it. “Let’s just go and find out, all right?”

Abeytu turned back to him, expressionless as usual. “Yes. We should.”

Suddenly Alistair wished he hadn’t said anything, wished he could put the meeting off and stay here with her as long as possible. But she was walking away, and Alistair followed, hoping that whatever King Cailan wanted, it would be over quickly.


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as they approached the king, Alistair knew something was different. The dark haired shem next to him -- probably the “Loghain” Cailan had mentioned before -- was speaking heatedly, but the king was turned away from him, his eyes searching the area. As soon as they fell on Alistair, his face lit up.

Chills ran down Alistair’s spine. He looked at Duncan, standing in the background, and the man’s furrowed brow told him everything he needed to know.

Cailan knew. Duncan had told him.

By the Dread Wolf. Alistair was not ready for this. He’d hoped for it for so long -- and dreaded it, too. Now it was happening, and the only thing he wanted to do was run away.

No. He was here as a Grey Warden. And he had Abeytu by his side. Her presence grounded him, and together the two Dalish elves approached the shems.

When they were a few steps away, Cailan closed the gap between them. Before Alistair could blink, the king had thrown his arms around him with a laugh.

“I always wanted a brother!” he exclaimed.

Alistair froze, unable to breathe, unable to process what he’d heard.

Cailan pulled back, grinning from ear to round ear, and clapped Alistair on the arm. “Nobody told me. I never knew!”

Alistair stole a glance at Abeytu. Her body was tense, as if she were ready to lunge into battle at any moment.

How would he explain this to her?

He turned his attention back to the human king in front of him. The human king, his brother. All the bitterness he’d felt over the years welled up and spilled over. “Riiiiiight. I suppose had you known, you would have invited me into the palace at your side.”

Cailan missed the biting sarcasm in a way that Alistair was beginning to suspect only he could. “We could have done so much! The trouble we could have gotten into as children! They should not have kept you from me.”

The dark-haired shem coughed.

Cailan ignored him. “I want to know everything about you, brother! Ah, but alas, we haven’t the time now, have we? Never mind. We shall have plenty of time to get to know each other after the battle!”

So certain, so blind. _ A fool _ , Alistair thought.  _ Such a fool _ .

He didn’t want to think about it any more. Didn’t want to hope, didn’t want to care. It wouldn’t happen; he knew it wouldn’t. Bastard elves did not live as princes.

Loghain spoke. “Your Majesty. We must attend to the battle plans.”

Cailan tore his eyes from Alistair with a grimace. “Yes, where were we? Discussing the signal fire, were we not?”

“I have a few men stationed at the Tower of Ishal. It’s not a dangerous task, but it is vital--”

“For this, we must send our best. Send our two new Grey Wardens to make sure it’s done.” 

Alistair blinked. Was it Coddle Alistair Day? He must have lost the memo.

Abeytu stepped forward. “We’ll be honored, your Majesty.”

Every time he thought things couldn’t get any stranger… Abeytu was calling a shem king by his honorific and telling him she was honored to do his bidding. Had all of Thedas lost its mind?

“Glorious! I cannot wait for that moment. The king of Ferelden battling alongside the legendary Grey Wardens to stem the tide of evil, with the crucial turning point in his brother’s hands!”

Abeytu bent her head ever so slightly in what was for her a great sign of respect. “With your blessing, your Majesty, Alistair and I must prepare for our role in the battle.”

“Yes, of course!” Cailan laid a hand on Alistair’s shoulder, beaming. “And afterwards, we shall celebrate our victory!”

With one more smile, the king released him, and Abeytu quickly took him by the hand, pulling him away.

\----------

As soon as they were alone, Abeytu turned to him. Elgar’nan, it was all out now. She knew who he was. What he was.

There was no way to explain this. He’d kept the secret for so long, and now --

“Please don’t think less of me.” The words tumbled out. “I know how this looks. I know what it means. I shouldn’t have pretended I could be Dalish, shouldn’t have tried to join the clan. I just wanted -- I don’t know. The clan was the only place where people didn’t look at me like I was going to make them dirty just by being there. I took advantage, I know. Abeytu, I’m sorry. I--”

“ _ Pretended _ to be Dalish?”

He shut his eyes and steeled himself for her condemnation.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re Dalish. By the Dread Wolf, Alistair, do you think that little of us? That being rejected by shems would make you unworthy?”

Alistair’s eyes flew open. “But -- King Maric himself--”

“Cast you off.” Fury blazed in her eyes. The last time he’d seen her like that, she’d put an arrow through a shem’s throat. “Thought he was better than you because his ears were round instead of pointed. Thought he was better than anyone else because he sat on a gilded throne.”

Alistair must have heard her wrong. “But my bloodline--”

“Bloodlines are for humans. You’re my clanmate. What do I care about  _ shem royalty _ ?” She all but spat the last two words, then took a deep breath, clearly making an effort to calm herself. “You are Dalish,  _ lethallin _ ,” she said more steadily. “Your shem father did not deserve you.”

Emotions flooded him, and he didn’t know what to process first. For all he’d thought of his father, he’d never once considered that a king might not be good enough for his elvhen bastard. He’d cursed his father for abandoning him, certainly, but he saw himself at best as a burden his father should have carried. Not a blessing that he’d cast aside.

But Abeytu saw it that way. And his human lineage didn’t bother her. Even knowing where he came from, she valued Alistair for who he was. 

He’d thought he’d known her. They’d been clanmates for years. But in that moment, he realized that he hadn’t understood her at all.

She was so much more than he’d realized. 

He’d known there was depth to her. He’d seen glimpses of passion beneath her mask, and he’d longed to see more of it, but he’d never realized the true extent of her… her…  _ kindness _ . She must be the most devoted person he’d ever known. He’d let her hard exterior throw him off, and he’d never gotten past it to see that in her eyes, he wasn’t the outsider he believed himself to be. Abeytu -- she accepted him. Always had. And even his darkest secret hadn’t broken her faith in him.

Alistair had adored Abeytu since the first time he met her. He’d thought it impossible to want her more. And now--

She overwhelmed him. He was overwhelmed.

“What do you want?”

Her question startled him out of his thoughts. “Want?”  _ Besides you in my arms? _

“Your brother would take you into the human palace at his side.”

Cailan. Right. Alistair reoriented himself to the situation at hand. “Now who’s being ridiculous? Of course he won’t. He thinks he wants me now. When he thinks it through, I’ll be right back where I was.”

She frowned at him. “You’re not answering my question.”

“What was the question again?”

“What do you want, Alistair?”

Oh. That.

So many times through the years, he’d wished for exactly this. For his brother to take him into his bosom, into his life. And now that it was offered him--

“I could never live in a palace.” He realized as he spoke it that it was true. “I’m Dalish. I wouldn’t fit. It would be wrong.”

“The king doesn’t think so.”

“It’s not about him. It’s about me. I mean, getting to know him, yes, I’d like that. The brotherly part, I’d do that if I could. But live in a palace? Have other elves serve me?” He grimaced. “Do you think I could ever really do  _ that _ ?”

She squinted in a way that he was pretty sure meant “not a chance”.

“So, no. I don’t want that. I--I’m Dalish. I want to be Dalish.”

_ I want to be with you. _

Abeytu’s lip quirked. Another smile. It made Alistair smile, too.

“We’re not Dalish anymore,” she said.

That made no sense. “Aren’t we?”

“Grey Wardens leave their lives behind.”

Oh, that. Alistair wrinkled his nose. “The Grey Wardens have a lot of ideas about what people should do.”

She only raised an eyebrow, and that eyebrow spoke volumes of her agreement with him.

“I’m Dalish.” It felt more true than it ever had before. “They can’t take that from me. No one can.”

Abeytu smiled, an actual, real smile, and Alistair felt dizzy. “You’re right,” she said. “They can’t.”


	8. Chapter 8

There shouldn’t have been darkspawn in the Tower of Ishal. But apparently no one had told the darkspawn that.

The creatures swarmed them, inescapable and monstrous. Sunken flesh, bleached skin, sharp teeth -- Alistair had to force their appearance out of his mind, forget  _ what  _ he was fighting and focus on mechanics instead. The battle became a tactical puzzle in his mind. That proved a good approach, because this battle was different from any other he’d fought. This time, he had Abeytu.

Alistair had never fought alongside a silent hunter before, and he analyzed her approach, adjusting his tactics to match. He was an unmistakeable target, and he used that to his advantage, baiting the darkspawn into just the right position for Abeytu to slip in. Her daggers pierced their bodies, and the darkspawn fell at her feet. Then she slid silently back into the shadows while Alistair drew the attention of the others. 

It was simple. Natural. They each did as they’d been trained, and the pieces fell into place.

So they fought, on and on. Darkspawn blood flowed, darkspawn bodies fell. Blades spun, metal clashed. No reprieve or rest. Only battle.

After what seemed an age, they reached the top of the tower. Both Alistair and Abeytu knew without speaking that they’d missed the signal. That they were too late. When the final creature fell, Abeytu rushed to light the fire.

At least they managed that before the monsters overtook them.

\----------

Alistair really didn’t need to be waiting for Abeytu to regain consciousness for the second time in two days. He sat by her side, holding her hand, while the witch with the feathers prepared a cooking fire, glancing at him disdainfully from across the room.

“You do remember that Mother said your friend will recover.”

“Riiiight. And I’m supposed to take the word of a witch living in a swamp.”

She chuckled mirthlessly. “Such scorn from someone who wanders homeless in a forest.”

Abeytu’s breathing was steady. That was reassuring. He wished she would open her eyes.

“I had no idea that men were so sickeningly clingy. Do you not think she might benefit from some space?”

“What is she going to do with it? Breathe farther?”

“‘Tis a pity. She seemed an intelligent sort when last I met her. How she tolerates such dimwitted company is a mystery.”

Abeytu’s eyelashes fluttered. Alistair’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Abeytu?  _ Lethallan _ ? Can you hear me?”

Her eyes opened. “Alistair.”

He exhaled, his fear leaving his body with his breath. “Thank Mythal.”

\----------

The next chance they had to speak was at camp that night. The witch, Morrigan, had set up her tent a distance away, despite Abeytu’s observation of the danger of that distance. Alistair was glad, however. Let the witch get eaten by darkspawn if she wanted. What he wanted was to be alone with his  _ lethallan _ .

When had thinking of her as  _ lethallan  _ become so natural?

“So here we are,” Alistair said. “Alone in a bog with a grumpy witch tagalong. You know, if you had told me yesterday that we were going to be here -- actually, with all that’s happened in the last week, it’s not as surprising as it should be.”

Abeytu lifted her eyes from the fire to his face, and her sharp gaze made him feel suddenly naked. Not that being naked with Abeytu would be a bad thing. That wasn’t what -- Creators, he needed to stop thinking. That shouldn’t be too hard for him, right?

She spoke quietly. “I’m sorry about Cailan.”

Oh.

He’d been trying to ignore what happened. Trying not to remember. He didn’t want to think about his brother’s tight hug, his promises to take him in, to keep him by his side…

“Well.” Alistair looked away. “Like I said. It was never going to work. I didn’t know him. And I still don’t, so nothing has changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

Alistair blinked back the traitorous tears that threatened to fall. He’d been wanted. By the family that cast him out. It shouldn’t mean anything.

But it did.

“I’ll tell you something,” Alistair said. “I should have paid more attention when the hearthkeeper was teaching me to roast a fennec. It didn’t seem especially useful at the time. I think I even told him so.” He huffed. “I guess I have to eat my words now. With me as cook, my words may be the only thing edible enough.”

Abeytu reached out silently and put her hand on his. The touch of her skin was electrifying and comforting at the same time.

“At least we both know how to build a fire. And I suppose having a mage around could be useful. Fires on demand, right? Not that I’d want to demand anything from Morrigan. I like not being a toad, thank you very much. Do you think…”

He went on, babbling inanely about he hardly knew what, and Abeytu sat by his side, a reassuring presence in an ocean of wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

Things changed, and things stayed the same. People joined their cause. A Chantry sister with a few loose marbles, a qunari that didn’t know how to smile, and a kind old Circle mage who darned Alistair’s socks once. Also an assassin that had tried to kill them -- Alistair didn’t know what Abeytu was thinking when she recruited that one.

But it often felt as though Abeytu and Alistair were the only ones who existed. They took watch together, ate their meals side by side, and generally sought out each other’s company above all others’. Abeytu still didn’t talk much. She never had. But she listened intently to Alistair’s rambling, occasionally adding her own observations. Her smiles were becoming more and more common, real smiles that went all the way to her eyes. But only for Alistair. They were reserved for him.

Sometimes Alistair’s mind boggled at having so much happiness. And other times he yearned for more with such fervor that he wondered if he would ever be truly happy at all.

\----------

He brought it up during the midday meal without any preamble. “We need to go to Redcliffe,  _ lethallan _ .”

She froze, the fruit she was eating halfway to her mouth, then lowered her hand. “I planned to bring the treaties to the dwarves next.”

“And travel all the way to Orzammar when Redcliffe is only a few miles away? Yessss, that seems like the best use of our time.”

“But Redcliffe… are you ready,  _ lethallin _ ?”

He looked away. “No. But a trip into dwarf-filled caves isn’t going to make it any easier. We have to go to Redcliffe. Let’s just… get it over with.”

Alistair glanced back at her face to see that assessing gaze once again. Then she nodded. “It’s your decision, Alistair. Whatever you choose.”

He almost wanted to take it back, to put off facing those childhood memories for as long as possible -- but there was no point. “That’s what I choose.”

\----------

Redcliffe was under attack. Of  _ course  _ it was. Nothing could ever be simple, could it?

There was no one in Redcliffe he’d wanted to see. Master Dennet had left years ago. The horsemaster’s departure had been the hardest moment of Alistair’s childhood, and that was saying something, but he was glad now that the man was gone. It meant he wasn’t in danger. The Chantry sister had been nice, if stern, but Alistair didn’t relish the idea of facing her with tattoos honoring Dirthamen all over his face. So, no, there was no one in Redcliffe he wanted to see.

But not wanting to see someone was not the same as wanting them to be attacked by monsters. The news of their predicament hit him harder than he would have thought.

\----------

“Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl.”

Alistair almost didn’t say anything, even though Bann Teagan had been kind to him, always. When the bann visited Redcliffe, he would visit Alistair in the stables, sometimes bringing small toys that Alistair had to hide from everyone but Master Dennet. Alistair always seemed to get caught, though, so he never had them for long. Sometimes Teagan would bring him cookies or other treats. He’d scarf those down, and Teagan would watch him with… sadness?

He liked Teagan. But the older Alistair got, the more he felt like a pet to the bann rather than a person. Now, Alistair wondered how much of that view had been colored by what he’d come to expect from humans, and human nobility in particular.

Whatever his motivation, the man had been kind, so Alistair said, “I remember you, Bann Teagan, though the last time we met I was a lot younger and working in the stables.”

“Working in…” Recognition dawned in Teagan’s eyes, and a grin spread over his lips. “Alistair? It is you, isn’t it? Maker’s breath, I would never have recognized you!”

Alistair raised a hand to his vallaslin without thinking, then dropped it to his side. “A lot has happened.”

“But you’re alive. I didn’t know. For years, I worried…”

He worried? “I’m alive. I...found a home.”

Teagan’s face twisted in remorse. “You always deserved that. I’m glad you found it.”

Alistair hadn’t expected that sentiment. “Even if I’m a barbarian heathen now?”

He laughed. “Who am I to say that my way is the right one? I only ever wanted your happiness, Alistair. I regret that I wasn’t able to give it to you.”

Abeytu was studying the bann, and Alistair wondered the man didn’t crumble under that assessing stare as so many others did. Teagan appeared to be so focused on Alistair that he didn’t even notice the intimidating elf in front of him. Emotions that Alistair didn’t want to think about began to bubble up from where he’d shoved them away. He had to redirect. “Well. I’m alive. Though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it.”

Teagan’s brow creased, puzzled, so Alistair explained. “I’m a Grey Warden. As is my clanmate.” He gestured to Abeytu. “Loghain would prefer we didn’t live to tell the tale of his treachery at Ostagar.”

“A Grey Warden!” Teagan looked at Abeytu as if seeing her for the first time, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Maker’s breath, a lot has changed. I never imagined…”

Abeytu spoke now. “Do you believe the teyrn’s story?”

Teagan’s lip curled. “What, that he pulled his men in order to save them? That the king risked everything in the name of glory? Hardly. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don’t believe it. It is an act of a desperate man.”

Abeytu took over the conversation then, drawing out the details of the arl’s illness, the undead horrors emerging from the castle, and exactly how the Grey Wardens could help. Alistair was grateful to have the attention taken from him so that he could process the conversation later.

\----------

“Snivelling elf! Get up off the ground, you cowardly creature!”

They were halfway to the smithy when the familiar voice froze Alistair in his tracks. He turned slowly, fighting the urge to cower and hide. There he was. Horsemaster Berinon, the man that replaced Dennet. He was standing over a young elf, a boy not more than fourteen. Berinon reached down and yanked the boy to his feet, and the elf raised his arms to cover his face.

“Please,” the boy whimpered. “I just want to go to the Chantry. Please don’t make me fight.”

The horsemaster growled. “Typical of your kind. Save your own hide and let others die in your place.”

The elf shuddered at the word  _ die _ . “I’m sorry, ser. Please don’t hurt me.”

And for a moment, Alistair was that boy. The stable boy at Redcliffe, at the mercy of this brute’s whims. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move. All he wanted to do was escape.

In an instant, Abeytu was behind the man, a dagger at his throat. The horsemaster went rigid.

“Let. Him. Go.”

Her tone was quiet, but it was dripping with rage. Berinon’s hand unclenched, and the young elf stumbled backward, then took off running.

“I’ll say this one time.” Abeytu tugged on the man’s hair, jerking his head back. “You will never touch another elf again.”

The horsemaster’s eyes were wide with fear, but his lip curled. “You’ll have to kill me,” he rasped. “There’s not a chance in the Void that I’ll ever let those filthy knife-ears slack off when I can do something about it.”

Alistair found his voice. “That man…” he faltered, and started again. “He’s the reason I left Redcliffe. He beat another elf to death, and I couldn’t--”

Abeytu bared her teeth. 

Her blade slid across the man’s throat.

A shockwave went through Alistair from his head to his toes. His body went completely numb. The moment was surreal, as if he were standing outside himself looking at a world that didn’t make sense. He was dimly aware of the cries of alarm from the few bystanders as the horsemaster’s body fell, his blood spilling on the dirt beneath him.

Abeytu lowered her blade and surveyed the onlookers. “This man murdered an innocent in his care, and he walked free. I will not tolerate that. Anyone who wants the help of the Grey Wardens had best remember.”

Her proclamation was met with silence. Abeytu stepped over the body, carefully avoiding the growing pool of blood, and walked straight to Alistair.

“Are you all right?”

The numbness began to disintegrate, and Alistair found a pressure on his chest lifted that he’d never realized was there. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But… I think I will be.”

\----------

The rest of their time in Redcliffe passed in a blur. Abeytu led the militia to an overwhelming victory, not a single person killed in the attack. They sneaked into the castle to discover the arl’s child possessed by a demon. Abeytu decided to ask the mages for help, and before Alistair knew it, they’d left the village and were back at camp.

Sitting at the fire, turning a rabbit on a spit, Alistair finally allowed himself to face the events of Redcliffe.

He was free.

He hadn’t realized the power Berinon still held over him. Hadn’t realized so much fear was hidden away in his heart. Alistair’s childhood had been rough, but he’d mostly felt safe. He’d had Master Dennet, and the horsemaster had taken care of him, protecting him from the worst that could have happened.

When Dennet was gone…

Alistair’s only guardian was replaced by his worst fear. After Dennet retired, Alistair had only stayed a couple of months before running away, nothing in his pockets but a meager bit of stolen money and food. He’d had no plan, either, except some vague notion of searching for the legendary Dalish he’d heard so much about. He’d nearly died in the attempt, but it was worth it. He found Clan Sabrae, and with them, the only true safety he’d ever known.

Berinon embodied all the oppression, all the mistreatment, all the hate Alistair had ever faced. And now… Berinon was dead.

And Alistair was free.


	10. Chapter 10

He probably should have been quieter. More… somber, or something. But no, not Alistair. When he was overwhelmed, he talked. A lot. So as he sat crosslegged on the ground with Abeytu during watch that night, the two of them facing each other in the firelight, he was… conversational.

All right, rambling.

“Bann Teagan is the reason I know so many kinds of cheeses. He used to bring me different types when he visited me in the stables. You know, whenever he happened to be in Redcliffe. Feta, havarti, brie… I’ll tell you what, though, my favorite was always good old cheddar. Of course, that was before I tried halla cheese.”

“It sounds like Teagan is a good man.”

“I didn’t see him much, but yes. He was kind. He wasn’t in Redcliffe all that often. Visited the arl sometimes, and when he did, he’d visit me, too. I don’t know. Sometimes I felt like a special project of his rather than a… I don’t know, friend? But he was kind.”

“There weren’t many kind people in your life before you joined us.” It wasn’t a question. Abeytu spoke out of understanding.

“I had Master Dennet. So it wasn’t always so bad. He was firm, but he took care of me.” And then there was Berinon. Alistair hesitated, gathering his nerve. “Thank you. For… what you did.”

Abeytu looked down at her hands. Alistair waited for her to reply, but she was silent. Nagging worries began to take root in his brain. She hadn’t wanted to do it. She resented him for putting her in that position. She--

“I killed my first shem when I was eight,” she said.

His brain whirled, trying to catch up. “Eight?” The meaning of her words sunk in. “What? How?”

She didn't look up. “Tamlen and I had a fight over -- I don’t even remember what. Some game we’d made up, probably. He stormed off into the forest by himself. And he didn’t come back. It was…” She took a breath. “Everyone was terrified. Especially me. The adults split up into search parties. I was to stay in the aravel.”

He’d never heard this story before. “I’m guessing you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t. It was my fault. So I stole the bow I’d been training with and sneaked away.”

“And you found Tamlen.” 

“A shem found him first. Blond, with cruel eyes. He had Tamlen on the ground, and he was kicking--”

Abeytu clenched her teeth and swallowed. 

She didn’t have to say any more. Alistair could see it all too clearly in his head. Only eight years old, both of them. Abeytu had found her best friend being beaten, and she’d killed a grown human man to save him. Even as a small child, Abeytu had been a hero. 

What a terrible burden for a child to carry. 

“I'm so sorry,” Alistair murmured. It was insufficient, but those were the only words he had. 

Abeytu’s gaze stayed fixed on her hands. “I’ll never forget how red all that blood was against that blond hair.”

Her hard mask was still up, but her voice trembled ever so slightly, and Alistair could see the pain behind the facade. She didn't see herself as a hero, he realized. She saw herself as a killer. 

Before he could say anything, tell her what she really was, Abeytu spoke again. “He deserved it.” Her eyes raised to meet his finally, almost defiant, as if daring him to contradict her. “I never killed anyone who didn't deserve it. And I don't regret it, not a single one of them.”

She was… there weren't words for what she was. Her terrifying, hard exterior concealed a fire in her heart that could burn the world to ashes. She protected those she cared about with a fervor to rival Andruil’s. She was fiercely devoted and intensely loyal. She did what was necessary, and she did it for those she loved. She was...

No, there weren’t words. But he needed to say the right thing. If there was ever a time to say the right thing, it was now. 

He exhaled. “You shouldn’t regret anything. You did what was right, every time. Abeytu, you are… you are the most…” he faltered for a moment “... _ heroic _ person I've ever known.” 

Creators, that sounded stupid. He knew he would mess it up.

Abeytu blinked, then blinked again. Disbelief crossed her face. “Me?”

He laughed nervously, trying to might light of it. “Yes, of course, you. Do you see any other selfless, courageous elves around here?”

She stared at him. “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

Alistair squinted at her. There was nobody else here. What did she --

Oh.

_ Oh _ .

She -- she couldn’t --

Abeytu hadn’t stopped staring at him, and the intensity in her eyes made no sense. “Alistair, you put yourself out there, front and center. You take blows to keep others safe. You’re the most exceptional warrior I’ve ever seen, and that’s not an exaggeration. Part of it is skill. Training. But most of it…” she paused, searching for words “...is heart. You give all of yourself. And that’s… Alistair, you amaze me.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. His heart raced, and he couldn’t get enough air.

“In every aspect of your life, you’re open in a way I never could be. When I’m upset, I get smaller, close in on myself. You, you seem to… I don’t know, expand. You’re strong. Solid. And I--I need that. You’re exactly what I need.”

He was dreaming. He had to be. Abeytu could never need him. Not him. Not Alistair.

Abeytu looked down and bit her lip.

With that, the reality of it hit him. Abeytu wasn’t vulnerable in his dreams. When he dreamed, she was perfect, a controlled goddess. If he was dreaming, it wouldn’t be like this. This was real.

And Alistair was undone.

He couldn’t sit there anymore. Without letting himself think, he pushed himself up onto his knees. He had only a moment to see her eyes widen before he pressed his lips hard against hers.

And--

She did nothing. She was frozen, unmoving.

_ Shit _ .

He pulled back, awkwardly. What had he done? He knew she didn’t feel that way about him, knew that they were just friends. He shouldn’t have---

Abeytu grabbed him by the back of his neck and tugged him back, her lips capturing his in a fierce kiss.

It knocked the breath out of him

He wasn’t prepared for this  _ at all _ . The fumbling kisses he’d shared with other Dalish girls couldn’t possibly compare. Heat spread out from his chest to fill his entire body. Her lips were so soft, so urgent, so -- oh,  _ Creators _ . He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she pressed herself against him, her lips parting, her tongue finding his.

He thought he might burn up. His pounding heart threatened to burst out of his chest. And still, all he could think was  _ more, more, more _ ...

Their lips broke apart, but they held onto each other, their foreheads touching as they panted for breath. One of Abeytu’s hands slid slowly down from the back of his neck, fingers trailing over his throat and making him shiver, then came to rest with her palm against his chest.

It took Alistair a few tries to find his voice, and when he did, all he could say was, “That was -- wow.”

Abeytu laughed, a tinkling sound that made Alistair’s heart stutter.

“Can we do that again?” he whispered.

“I hope so.”

He touched his lips to hers, softly, just one lingering moment. “Tomorrow, too?”

She laughed again. Creators, he couldn’t get enough of that sound. “And the next day, and the next day, and the next day…”

It couldn’t be real. It  _ was  _ real.

“That sounds… nice. Let’s do that.”

He could have kissed her all night, but they wouldn’t be keeping a very good watch, so they adjusted their position until Abeytu sat in front of him, her back against his front, and Alistair let his arms rest around her waist as he continued talking about whatever came into his head. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, and Alistair was pretty sure it wasn’t possible to be happier than he was right now.

For the first time since leaving his clan, he felt like he was home.


	11. Chapter 11

Alistair’s life now was dizzying. He could touch Abeytu now, whenever he wanted. He could hold her hand as they walked. If the impulse hit him, he could kiss her cheek at any moment. And she initiated the same contact. Sometimes she’d stop to kiss him wholeheartedly, ignoring Morrigan’s snide comments. As a result of all this, Alistair was constantly walking around in an intoxicated cloud.

They had to go to Denerim. Brother Genitivi was their only lead on the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and they had no hope of saving Eamon if they didn’t go. Denerim.

Goldanna was in Denerim.

So one night, Alistair told Abeytu about Goldanna, his words spilling over each other in their haste to get out. His sister, his mother’s daughter. As a child, Alistair had wanted to know Cailan with a longing that tore his heart, but Goldanna -- as faceless as she was to him, it was different with her. She was an elf. She was like him. If anyone could understand him, it would be his elvhen sister, right?

He said all this to Abeytu, and she listened in her quiet way. When he finished, she nodded once. “We’ll go see her.”

\----------

The house was small and dark. It looked like it was empty.

Alistair cleared his throat. “Er -- hello?”

“Eh? You have linens to wash?” From a shadow in a corner, a woman stood up. She squinted at Alistair, then stepped forward. “I charge two bits on the bundle, you won’t find better. And don’t trust what that Natalia woman tells you, either; them shems’ll rob you blind.”

She had hair the same color as his.

Ack, what was he supposed to say? “I’m not here to have any wash done. My name’s Alistair. I’m--”

He’d rehearsed for this situation so many times. Practiced it in his head over and over since he was a child. Of course, now that he was here, he couldn’t remember a word he’d come up with.

The woman squinted at him.

Hurriedly, he went on, the words coming out too fast. “This may sound sort of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, I suppose I’m your brother.”

Her brow creased. “My what? I am Goldanna, yes… how do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?”

She didn’t believe him. Well, there was no reason she should, was there? “Look, our mother… she worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle, a long time ago, before she died. Did you know about that?” Alistair wasn’t sure exactly how old Goldanna was; maybe she remembered it. “She--”

“You!” She gasped. “I knew it. They told me you was dead! They told me the babe was dead, along with mother, but I knew they was lying!”

She did remember. He’d never heard this part of the story. “They told you I was dead? Who? Who told you that?”

“Thems at the castle! I told them the babe was the king’s, and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way. I knew it!”

Who had done that? Eamon? His stomach curled. “I’m sorry, I… didn’t know that. The babe didn’t die, I’m him; I’m… your brother.”

This was it. The moment she either accepted him… or rejected him.

Judging from her face, acceptance wasn’t on the table.

“For all the good it does me! You killed mother, you did, and I’ve had to scrape by all this time. Do you know how orphan elves are treated?”

Alistair blinked, processing what he just heard. He’d… he’d… killed...

He couldn’t speak. By his side, Abeytu said. “He does, actually.”

“And who in the Maker’s name are you? Either of you? Dalish? What good can you do for me?” She sneered. “I don’t know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing. I got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you.”

Five… nieces and nephews. And it was looking like he would never know them.

“Go on. Get out of my house. Come back when you can do something for me.”

Abeytu stepped forward. Her eyes were burning in the way that usually meant she was about to kill someone, and Alistair moved toward her, slightly panicked.

But she just threw some coins on the ground. A lot of coins.

“If you ever,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “speak to Alistair that way again, you will regret it.”

Goldanna’s mouth fell open. Abeytu turned on her heel and stormed out, banging the door open as she did so.

He couldn’t be alone with this woman. Alistair followed Abeytu out as quickly as he could.

\---------

Alistair hurried behind Abeytu across half the Denerim marketplace, before she ducked into an alleyway and stopped abruptly. Her posture was tense, her hands clenched into fists. Slowly, Abeytu took a deep breath, let it out, and turned to face Alistair. 

“Are you all right?” she growled.

Something about it all, her concerned words spoken with barely controlled rage, struck Alistair as hilarious. He burst out laughing; full-out, uncontrollable giggles that he couldn’t stop.

Abeytu’s nostrils flared, and then her lip quirked. A moment later, the giggles overtook her, too.

Alistair laughed until his sides ached and he was wheezing. He leaned against the alley wall, gasping for breath, and Abeytu did the same. 

When they finally ran out of breath, Alistair put his head back against the wall. Goldanna’s words swirled through his brain, over and over.  _ You killed mother, you did, and I’ve had to scrape by all this time… Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me…  _

“I killed my mother,” he said dully. 

Abeytu made a sound in her throat, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her shift against the wall to face him. “I drove my mother away.”

“My sister hates me.”

“The loss is hers.”

Alistair almost wanted to laugh at that, but he’d run out of laughter. “Is it?”

Abeytu huffed. “Trust me on this.”

Coming from her, he could almost believe it.

“No one has ever wanted me.” He hated the way his voice trembled.

“The clan did. I do. Your brother did, once he knew of you.”

Alistair turned his head to see Abeytu watching him, concern all over her face, no sign of the mask she always wore. When had he broken through her barriers so completely?

“You really want me?” His voice broke, and he tried to cover it with a joke. “You're not just saying that because I’m convenient to have between you and the darkspawn, right?”

“As convenient as that is,” Abeytu said somberly, “I'd much rather have you for yourself than for your battle skills.”

He sighed, and it came out shaky. He felt himself getting smaller, as if the world was closing in on him. “I keep thinking you’re going to go away.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she squared her shoulders, reaching out to grab both his hands, tugging him away from the wall. “Listen to me.” Her voice was hard. “I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand me?”

Understand the impossible? She didn't know what she was asking. Alistair cleared his throat and attempted a feeble grin. “Make sure you tell the darkspawn that.”

Abeytu tilted her head, her piercing eyes assessing him in the way that left his heart naked before her. Then she nodded. “We’ll make a pact.”

He blinked. “A… pact?”

“A pact. We both promise not to be killed by darkspawn. Then neither of us has to worry about losing the other. Because we’ve promised.”

That ridiculous logic should not have been comforting. But somehow it was  _ more _ comforting for being ridiculous. A shared promise to stay at each other’s side, not to leave no matter how dire the circumstances. Abeytu was willing to make that promise to him. 

More than that. She wanted that promise from him in return. She needed to hear that he wasn’t leaving her, either.

Alistair had to clear his throat before he could speak. “You have my word.”

Abeytu nodded solemnly. “Mine, too.”

Nobody had ever made a promise like that to him. He’d never thought anyone would.

Creators, he loved this woman.

Love.

He’d been trying to avoid thinking that word. Loving someone -- it was dangerous. Because people left, and it hurt. Dennet had left. Teagan had left, again and again. Alistair’s father left him as soon as he was born. Cailan was gone before Alistair could know him at all.

Abeytu wasn’t leaving. 

And Alistair loved her.

One of her eyes squinted almost imperceptibly -- an expression of confusion. No doubt wondering why he was staring at her like an idiot.

But he loved her. With everything in him. And that meant --

He had to tell her.

By the Dread Wolf, how was he supposed to go about that? Did he just come out with it, just say the words without preamble, “I love you”? Or was he supposed to lead up to it with romantic sentiments and -- and -- Creators, what else was there to say?

And what if she didn’t say it back? What if she went all stiff and closed-off behind her mask again? Maybe he shouldn’t say it at all. Maybe saying it would ruin everything.

“Alistair?”

Her eyes were such a pretty shade of grey.

“Alistair?”

“I love you,” he whispered.

Her lip quirked, and her eyes softened. “I love you, too,  _ ma vhenan _ .”

A heaving sigh of relief escaped him, and he reached for her waist, pulling her into his arms. She loved him, too. Him, a bastard who’d been rejected all his life, a shem-blooded flat-ear. She loved him.

It was impossible. It was real.

She lifted her chin, and he pressed his lips to hers a little too fiercely, a little too hard. Abeytu didn’t seem to mind. She wrapped her arms around his neck, matching him in passion.

She loved him. Somehow, despite all odds, Alistair had someone now who needed him as much as he needed her. Abeytu had given Alistair her heart, and as he pulled her in tighter, he vowed to always cherish and protect it, and to trust her to do the same.

“Say it again?” he murmured against her lips.

She chuckled. “I love you.”

“Mmm.” Alistair pulled back just enough to look into her beautiful grey eyes. “I love you, too.”


End file.
